Dead End Road Page 17

  “For sure. He’s just lucky I didn’t let Abby at him. She was planning to kick his head in.”

  “Now, that I’d have paid to see.” Marsh said.

  Chuckles and nods of approval came from around the table, except for Trent. He was frowning.

  “Look, guys, not to piss on your Cheerios or anything, because I understand about blowing off steam. But should we really be laughing about bar fights considering the news about Stacy?” Most of his stern expression was aimed at Seth and Marshall. Abby felt like slumping under the table herself. Mouse and Roberto didn’t completely escape chastisement, but Andy and Danny, perhaps because they hadn’t been part of the gang when Stacy was around, seemed immune. They looked like they didn’t dare open their mouths, though.

  Seth and Marshall exchanged a long look, and Seth spoke. “I’m going to say this, and it’s the last time I want to have this conversation.”

  Trent nodded. “Fair enough. Go ahead.”

  Seth’s jaw clenched a few times as he fidgeted with a ring on his left hand. He looked up and made eye contact with each man around the table. “I brought Stacy into this group, and maybe it was the wrong thing to do. I knew she had some problems, but we were all hanging just shy of being out of control back then. Only we moved one way, and she got closer and closer to the danger zone. I probably should’ve done something, found some way to stop her from being so reckless, but I didn’t. I never felt like I had any ground to stand on, telling somebody else to get their shit together. Probably still don’t.” He grabbed the open bottle of water in front of Trent and took a long swallow.

  “Man, I didn’t mean…” Trent began.

  “No, Trent. I’m not done.” He returned the bottle and cleared his throat. “She’s been out of my life for a long time, and I’ve never been sorry she left. There wasn’t enough holding us together, and the last stunt she pulled made the decision for us. I wasn’t going to live that way. No other way it could’ve worked out.”

  He swiped a hand down his face and took a moment to catch his breath before he continued. “But when I say I haven’t been sorry she’s gone, it doesn’t mean I don’t care she’s dead. I do. She meant something to me once. It makes me sick she was so messed up or felt so bad, whichever way it went down, and she was alone.” His voice choked off and he had to pause to collect himself before going on. “I feel like shit because I wanted to think she was involved with whatever’s happening, and we didn’t even know she was dead. I’m sorry she’s not out there having the time of her life, maybe straightening out, being happy. Maybe most of it was her own fault, but knowing me didn’t ever do her one bit of good.”

  Abby looked around the table. She was surprised to see Marshall had tears in his eyes. Seth looked like he was hanging on by a thread, and she realized her own cheeks were wet. Maybe it wasn’t her place, but she’d had enough. She stood. “Well, gentlemen, I think everything’s been said that needs to be said. Got anything else to add?” Her gaze swept the table, and nobody seemed eager to meet her eyes. She guessed she’d learned something from her mother after all.

  Trent stood too, and extended a hand to Seth. “No. Just…I’m sorry, bro, okay?”

  Seth clasped his hand. “Yeah.”

  “Excellent,” Abby said. “Today’s been the roller coaster from hell, and believe me when I say seeing Seth clock David was the biggest bright spot since my guest room exploded. I’m not going to apologize for finding it amusing.” She scooped her purse from the bench beside her. “That’s it. I’m done, and as soon as you boys wrap this up, Seth and I are going home.” She was a little winded after her speech, but felt better for saying it.

  Seth rose, wiped her still-wet cheeks with a napkin, and kissed her. He looked at his friends. “So, what did y’all decide about the trip home?” He was trying hard to act as if nothing dramatic had happened.

  Trent emptied the last pitcher of beer. “Like I said, I’m flying out in the morning. Danny and Jake will go to St. Cloud till the van is released, probably a few days, and drive it home.”

  “You all right with that, Danny?”

  “Sure. I’ve done my share of driving and towing the trailer. It’s all good.”

  Mouse spoke up. “I hate to fly, and I ain’t waiting around for the bus, so me and Roberto are going to rent a car and head out tomorrow. He wants to stop at a custom music shop in Kansas City and look at some equipment he’s been e-mailing them about.”

  Marshall appeared to have regained his composure. “I think I’ll hang around here until they let us have the bus back. Won’t hurt to be nearby in case you get your ass in more trouble.”

  Seth snorted. “You’re more likely to cause trouble than patch it up.”

  “You’d think so, wouldn’t you? I’m starting to see a change in the trend, though.” He scooted his empty glass toward the center of the table. “I’ll hire somebody local to help me with the drive, so I don’t have to take any extra time.”

  “I’m going to rent a car too, and drive to Chicago to see my aunt,” Andy said. “As fucked up as this is, makes me feel like I should see her. She practically raised me. I’ll fly back to Austin from there in a few days.”

  Abby did a mental roll call. “That’s everybody, then, isn’t it?”

  Seth nodded. “Yep. This would’ve been a disaster if we had gigs this week, but I guess if your bus is a crime scene, this is the best time for it to happen.”

  Abby pinched his ribs. “Not funny.”

  “I think my mood is turning around, so it’s almost funny,” Seth said, digging some cash from his wallet and tossing it on the table. “So, guys, we good?”

  “We’re good. Get out of here,” Trent said.

  Seth took Abby’s hand. “We’re gone. C’mon, Abby-Kat.”

  She would have smacked him for the “Abby-Kat” thing, but she found the idea of going home with him—again—was putting her in a very good mood too.

  Chapter Twelve

  Abby

  Abby and Seth were almost back to Dash’s when the wind picked up, a sure sign rain was imminent. She pulled back the hair blowing around her face, and folded her arms against the slight chill. “We’d better hurry if we don’t want to get soaked.”

  Seth stepped up the pace after a quick look at the threatening sky. They rounded the corner of the club, and met an unwelcome sight. Two news vans were parked near the building, and a reporter and cameraman were keeping watch on the back door.

  Abby moaned. “Oh, shit. Why didn’t it occur to me reporters would show up?”

  Seth pulled her out of sight behind a pickup truck. “I should’ve thought of it, but I didn’t think the media up here would pay me much attention. I forgot you’re a local celebrity.”

  “Must be a slow news day,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Let’s go in the side door.”

  The side door was still unlocked, and they retreated into the building’s dim interior, where they encountered Special Agent Kincaid.

  “I was about to call you,” he said. “We lucked out on the lab testing your whiskey bottle.”

  Abby wondered if finding evidence of drugs in the bottle would be considered lucky or unlucky in this case.

  “Lucked out how?” Seth asked.

  “Bad word choice,” Kincaid admitted. “But it was fortunate the toxicology expert was really on the ball. He had a hunch based on the symptoms you described, and ran a test he might not have otherwise.”

  “Really? What did he test for?” Seth’s shoulders tensed, as if he didn’t believe he’d enjoy the answer.

  “Rohypnol and GHB, commonly known as ‘date rape’ drugs. The sample tested positive with a high concentration of GHB, or gamma hydroxybutyrate.”

  “What made him think of it?” Abby asked.

  “Let’s get out of the hallway,” Kincaid said, steering them toward a staff break room. As they sat around a chipped Formica table, he pulled out a single faxed page and perched reading glasses on his nose. “He thought of Rohypnol,
GHB, and a couple of other possibilities, because of the rapid appearance of being intoxicated, as well as the fact you don’t have much memory of what happened after you finished your interview.”

  “That’s for sure,” Seth said. “I couldn’t tell you the last time one of the guys had to make sure I got to my room in one piece. And the few times they did, it was after a real balls-out bender, not two drinks.”

  “Right. And this is exactly why it’s effective. The victim doesn’t remember much, and is so compliant the perpetrator has total control.”

  Abby searched her memory for information on GHB and came up dry. She hadn’t even researched it for one of her books. “Where would somebody get it?”

  Kincaid placed the fax on the table and leaned back. “You used to be able to buy it in health food stores, as an additive body builders used to supposedly increase the production of growth hormone. It was banned in 1990, but people can still buy the components and cook it up at home.” He shook his head. “Which makes it even more dangerous. You never know how strong a batch is going to be.”

  “So was somebody trying to poison me or put me out of commission so they could finish me off some other way?”

  “Could be either,” Kincaid said. “It can take thirty to forty minutes to peak in your bloodstream, and alcohol intensifies the effect. So if you had a few drinks of a really potent sample in a short amount of time, you could have a lethal dose before you even knew you were in trouble. It’s a clear liquid, and other than a slightly salty taste you wouldn’t notice it, especially if it’s masked by alcohol or another strong flavor. The victim would appear very drunk, but could sink into deep unconsciousness or even a coma. Respiration might stop, or they could vomit and aspirate.”

  Abby tried to envision this scenario as if she were considering it for one of her books. It helped keep the freak-out at bay if she processed it in a fictional context. “But they couldn’t be sure about the dose, especially not if they made it themselves, right? Plus, Seth blew the plan because he stopped drinking to go do his interview.”

  Kincaid nodded. “I’d say so. It means the perpetrator probably intended to take advantage of the other effect of GHB, which is the victim being defenseless, maybe incapacitated.”

  Seth leaned his elbows on the table and put his face in his hands. “This is fucking unreal.” Lifting his head, he shoved his hair back in frustration. “But you know what? Marsh probably saved my life, because he stayed in my room all night. He’s gotten a kick out of riding me about it ever since, but he really thought something was wrong.”

  “Remind me to thank him,” Abby said.

  “Thing is,” Kincaid said, his voice deepening in a deliberate manner, “they’d have probably gotten away with it. Think about it. People drink too much, vomit, and choke to death a lot more often than most people realize. If they found a high blood alcohol level, they’d say, ‘Damn shame, guy drank himself to death,’ and never look any farther. Plus, GHB occurs naturally in the body, so even if they did find it in your bloodstream, they’d almost certainly write it off unless there were other reasons to be suspicious and do more tests.”

  “Guess all my lucky stars must be in alignment,” Seth said. Despite the attempt to shrug it off, his voice had the flat tone of someone who had heard all he could handle.

  “I’d say so,” Kincaid said. “Now, listen, I can’t imagine anybody having three separate plans in the pipeline or being crazy enough to try anything else with investigators all over the place. But it doesn’t mean you shouldn’t be careful. We arranged for one of the Emporia officers to make some passes out your road tonight, and as many nights as you’re in town.”

  “We’re grateful,” Abby said, rubbing Seth’s forearm. She needed to draw some of his attention away from the dark facts she knew were bouncing around in his head. “It’s pretty hard to get near my house without someone hearing, but at this point I appreciate any extra security we can get.”

  “I’ll be talking with you both again tomorrow.” Kincaid rose and shook Seth’s hand. “Now, if you want, I’ll go see if I can get those reporters to focus on me for a minute, give you a chance to get past them.”

  “Much appreciated,” Seth said. “But I should write out a statement for you to give them. Otherwise, they’re liable to show up out at the lake later.”

  “Good thinking,” Kincaid said, handing Seth a small spiral notebook from his pocket.

  “I’m saying the entire band is shocked by these events. We have no idea what it’s all about. We’re grateful nobody has been hurt, and we have full confidence in the officials conducting the investigation. Sound okay?”

  “Perfect,” Kincaid said, accepting the return of the notebook. “Now let’s get you on your way.”

  * * *

  As they drove home, the rain intensified, spilling across the road, filling ditches, and leaving deep puddles in the low spots in Abby’s gravel road. There had been some conversation regarding who would drive, but Abby prevailed. Seth argued she’d allowed him to drive that morning, but she said it was a moment of weakness and shouldn’t be considered a precedent. She also pointed out the “B” for Bitch monogrammed on the door.

  “I’m not letting you drive the Bitchmobile, especially when you’ve had more to drink than I have.”

  “You call your car the Bitchmobile?”

  “As of about three seconds ago.”

  So Abby drove, and only had to ask Seth to stop trying to put his foot through the passenger-side floorboard twice. They hurried from the driveway to the side porch, and as Abby unlocked the door she thought she’d never been so happy to be home in her entire life.

  “I guess the first order of business is a tour of the crime scene, or the disaster area, or whatever it is.” She tossed her keys and purse on the kitchen counter, not yet looking toward the guest room.

  “That’s your first order of business? Because I kind of hoped you had one or two more…urgent ideas.”

  She turned and saw him leaning against the wall, arms folded, and looking completely edible. “Down, boy. As a matter of fact, I have numerous ideas. But first I have to confirm there aren’t any unpleasant surprises or stray federal agents lurking.” She passed where Seth stood, and he fell into step behind her.

  They entered the spare room, and Abby switched on a lamp and gasped. “Well, would you look at that?”

  “Impressive.”

  “I didn’t get a good look from outside because of the rain, but if you ignore the wrecked ceiling you’d almost never know anything happened.” She assessed the amazing feat her mother had accomplished. The wall hole and other window were both securely boarded, and someone had even stapled a blue sheet, fan folded to resemble drapery pleats, over the plywood. Another piece of plywood covered the splintered area on the floor beneath a bright throw rug, the whole room had been cleared of debris, and the bed was neatly remade. There was still an underlying scent of charred wood and drywall, but it was almost completely masked by Lemon Pledge and Pine Sol. Not her favorite scents, but definitely preferable to scorched house.

  “Let’s check the fridge,” Seth suggested. “She said they were leaving food, right?”

  “You can’t possibly be hungry already. You ate almost a whole platter of potato skins all by yourself.” A finger poked at his stomach emphasized her point.

  “I’m planning on working up an appetite.”

  She was too, but couldn’t concentrate until she’d finished her inspection.

  The refrigerator’s contents included not only sandwiches, soft drinks, and potato salad, but several covered baking dishes.

  “Ooh! Chicken and noodle hot dish with potato chips on top. Mom knows that’s my favorite. But look at these others. I’ll have to freeze some of them.”

  Seth peered around her and into the lighted interior of the refrigerator. “Is that barbecued chicken? When did she bring barbecued chicken? I missed it.”

  “Hard to tell. I don’t think she made it here. The p
ropane tank for my grill hasn’t been filled yet. She probably contracted it out. She has her sources.”

  Seth plucked a piece of paper from the breakfast bar. “Here’s her note.”

  Abby took it, but didn’t immediately read it. “One more thing. My room.”

  “Now you’re getting to the right part of the agenda,” Seth said, reaching for her.

  “No, we need to see what she did in there.”

  “What’s she going to do to your room?”

  “One never knows. That’s what has me so concerned.” Abby pictured several dozen strategically placed candles and a bottle of champagne, given her mother’s obvious determination to present an over-the-top endorsement of her relationship with Seth.

  They crossed the hallway to her room, and she flipped on the light against the rainy gloom.

  “Tulips on the bed table. Scary,” Seth teased.

  “Nice touch, even though I have no idea where she got them. It’s my vase, though. Subtle.” Her quick visual inventory noticed several things. “First, your guitar is over there leaning against the dresser. She didn’t leave it in a neutral area like the living or dining room. She put it in the bedroom.”

  “Don’t you think you’re reading too much into this?”

  “Excuse me, didn’t you meet Mom this morning?”

  “I…”

  “Shush, I’m looking.”

  Seth shushed.

  “I’m not surprised she dried and folded your clothes. She’s incapable of leaving laundry more than five minutes after it’s done. But she did put your t-shirts, socks…” She took a step closer to verify her suspicion. “…and boxers on my dresser. Less subtle, but effective.” Her next stop was the closet. “And here we have your jeans, two button-down shirts, and a denim jacket. Don’t be surprised if she ironed your jeans. At least she didn’t overdo it. Much.” Though she had to admit there could be other discoveries yet to be made. “Okay, I’m done. Do you want something to drink?”